Lighthearted Romance by Gina Arditohttps://ginaardito.com
Fall in Love... With Your Laugh!Sat, 03 Nov 2018 20:38:59 +0000en-UShourly1https://wordpress.org/?v=4.9.8(Some of) The Reviews Are In…https://ginaardito.com/some-of-the-reviews-are-in/
https://ginaardito.com/some-of-the-reviews-are-in/#respondSun, 18 Feb 2018 23:20:35 +0000https://ginaardito.com/?p=1600And LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE is a hit. (Whew!) Here are just a few of the comments on Amazon: “LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE is Ms. Ardito’s finest writing to date. The crisp detail she gives to the surroundings, the multi-dimensional characters, and the knowledge about independent breweries make this a very interesting story…” “Bo McKenzie […]

]]>And LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE is a hit. (Whew!) Here are just a few of the comments on Amazon:

“LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE is Ms. Ardito’s finest writing to date. The crisp detail she gives to the surroundings, the multi-dimensional characters, and the knowledge about independent breweries make this a very interesting story…”

“Bo McKenzie is one of the best heroines I have read in years. She’s strong, gutsy, and wounded.”

“This was the best starting over story I’ve read in a long time.”

“This character grabbed my interest from the moment I met her. She was spunky and a spitfire with smarts and courage to boot. ”

]]>https://ginaardito.com/some-of-the-reviews-are-in/feed/0One More Sleep ’til Lightninghttps://ginaardito.com/one-sleep-til-lightning/
https://ginaardito.com/one-sleep-til-lightning/#respondFri, 09 Feb 2018 13:23:23 +0000https://ginaardito.com/?p=1597Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow! I’m so excited for you all to meet my characters and read their story. Since you’ve met the main characters now, here’s a sneak peek of Chapter One: Bo McKenzie stepped off the bus and onto the ground. A cloud of red dust erupted around her feet to cover her suede boots. […]

]]>Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow! I’m so excited for you all to meet my characters and read their story. Since you’ve met the main characters now, here’s a sneak peek of Chapter One:

Bo McKenzie stepped off the bus and onto the ground. A cloud of red dust erupted around her feet to cover her suede boots. The heat blasted her face with the force of a blow torch. This was an omen, a symbol of the coming Apocalypse.

Turn around, girl. Go home. You don’t belong here.

What the hell was she thinking, agreeing to open her new business in Texas, anyway? Already, she missed the hustle and bustle of New York City, the people rushing by, the ability to get an iced latte on any corner at any time of the day or night—the anonymity she didn’t truly enjoy until it was gone.

The only thing she spotted rushing here was a rabbit that darted out in front of the bus wheels then second-guessed his decision and raced back to the brush, unscathed. Unlike that lucky rabbit, though, Bo hadn’t escaped New York without a whole lot of bumps and bruises.

The bus door creaked shut, and the engine roared. Panic blared a red alert in her skull.

Get out. Before it’s too late. You aren’t ready for this.

She whirled to stop the driver from leaving her here—a second too late. On a puff of acrid black smoke, the bus pulled away from the Silverton station. A ton of self-doubt, gift-wrapped with a big ol’ ribbon of self-recrimination, sat on her shoulders, but she shifted on her feet to balance the invisible weight, as well as the weight of the hard-shell black satchel she carried in her left hand.

Six months into this project, with only weeks ‘til the grand opening, was not the right time to second-guess herself. Maybe, if she’d taken a step back, thought about the events and the consequences when everything had first started to snowball, instead of pulling the trigger on her entire life…

“Bo! Over here!”

Her posture sagged with relief when she spotted the burly figure waving to her from across the dusty road. Thank God. A friendly face. Her second thought wasn’t quite as charitable. Where the hell is the car?

“Mitch. Please tell me I don’t have to walk from here.”

Her associate chuckled, his round and robust face turning ruddier in the excessive heat as he hurried across the street toward where she waited. “The car’s on the other side of the lot, air conditioning on high. I didn’t want the strong sun to warm up the interior again, so—”

“You left the keys in it, engine running?” Of all the stupid…

“Relax. It’s perfectly safe. This isn’t New York.” He reached for her satchel, but she shielded it with both arms.

She glared at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Now, Bo, I know you don’t go in for all that chivalry stuff, but here, it’s expected that a gentleman will hold a lady’s burden.”

Her exasperation erupted in an indelicate snort. “Lucky for you, I’m no lady. I’m a he-man with lady parts.”

“Jeez-us.” His jaw dropped. “Did Rob say that?”

The shock in his tone hurt her more than the insult had. Instead of replying, she kicked a rock in her path and watched it skitter a dusty trail to the curb. Did Mitch really think anyone who got a good look at her would see her as someone who required a man’s assistance? Years of cleaning tanks, schlepping water buckets, and hauling barley had given her the physique of an Amazonian war goddess. She topped Mitch by a good six inches and would probably stand out like a sunflower in a field of daisies when surrounded by delicate Texas ladies. No amount of men holding her belongings would change the optics.

“It’s not true, you know. You’re every inch a lady. Rob was the monster, not you. Never you.”

“Don’t.” The slightest softness right now would wilt her resolve. She needed to remain tough, prove she was up to this challenge. Since Mitch continued to give her sad puppy-dog eyes, though, she relented on a sigh and handed her case to him. “Fine. Be careful with this. My whole life is in here.” She had to stifle a laugh when he cried out and stumbled under the weight. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I keep forgetting how freakishly strong you are,” he grumbled. “For a lady.”

Rather than take offense, she laughed and slapped him on the back, causing him to stumble again. She took his elbow to steady him. “Okay, fine, but let’s go. I want thirty minutes to prepare for the meeting before the lawyers get there. At this stage of the game, everything has to run smoother than polished glass.”

They’d never take her seriously if she appeared before them wrung out or emotional. She needed to be cool, knowledgeable, and all-business. Her mobile laboratory, her recipes, and her certification from Berlin’s VLB Institute should take care of the knowledge and business parts. The cool would have to come from a steady blast of icy air conditioning during the car ride and a quick fix to her melting makeup in the rest room.

Mitchell hefted her case against his belly with two hands and staggered down the street, duck-walking, while she had to shorten her strides so as not to get a mile ahead of him.

“This is silly,” she said. “Let me take the bag.”

“Unh-unh. Appearances are important here. Trust me.”

Appearances? Who was around to judge? The gray and white birds resting on the awning over the bus station? There wasn’t another human anywhere else in sight. Maybe everyone remained indoors ‘til the sun went down since it was so damn hot. They strode past a storefront with a large window, a steel counter, and a sign advertising snow cones. The lure of a sweet frosty treat tempted her under the blazing sun, but with her luck, she’d wind up dripping cherry juice on her shirt or staining her lips blue—neither the professional look she hoped to present to her lawyers.

Across the street stood an imposing, tan brick building of graceful columns and a sweeping stone staircase, advertising itself as the town hall. Still, Mitch kept walking, past a small general store and a beauty salon…

“Where’d you park? Oklahoma?”

He glanced left then right then left again. “No. It should be around here somewhere.”

A ball of dread formed in the pit of her stomach. Two beat-up pickup trucks sat parked in front of a feed store. A rusted bicycle lay in a patch of dry grass. That summed up the various modes of transportation in sight. No sleek black car with engine running and fogged up windows waited for them. She stood stock still in the middle of the street, tossed her head back and groaned. “Dammit, Mitch, what are we supposed to do now?”

He had the grace to look sheepish. “We could walk it.”

“How far?”

“About three miles.”

“Three miles? In this heat? Are you insane? I’ve got…” She glanced at her men’s waterproof sports watch and noted the time. “…forty minutes before my meeting and a ton of things to review and prep before the bloodsuckers arrive.” She rotated slowly, scanning the few buildings around them. “I’ve got a better idea. You walk it—after you report the theft to the police. I suggest you start at that fancy-looking building over there. In the meantime, give me my bag so I can call a cab.”

“Umm…” He lowered his head, his gaze staring at his feet. “There are no cabs here.”

“No cabs?”

This just kept getting better and better. Okay, don’t panic. Focus. You need this to go well. You can’t go off the deep end whenever something goes wrong. That’s what they expect you to do.

For all she knew, her brothers had paid Mitch to lose the car, hoping to throw a monkey wrench into her plans. Practical jokers, the whole bunch of them, sometimes funny, but not always. Especially not today. Well, she wouldn’t let them win. She wasn’t about to let anyone get the better of her again. Not today, not ever. She took a deep breath for inner calm. Heat and dust clogged her lungs, and she coughed. When the tears dried in her eyes and she’d recovered the use of her throat, she yanked her case from Mitch’s grasp and strode with purpose toward the government building.

“Bo? Where ya goin’?”

“To find a ride. You should probably come with me so you can file a police report while we’re there.”

As she strode over the rutted path, her heeled boots became a handicap she refused to acknowledge, twisting her ankles at near-impossible angles on the uneven surface. She didn’t care if she broke a bone. She had a meeting to get to and would risk just about anything to get there. Her entire future depended on it.

At last, she reached the sidewalk and without a care if Mitch followed her or not, took the stairs two at a time to get to the circular door and the building’s interior. Inside, cool air kissed her skin, and she said a silent prayer of thanks for modern air conditioning.

A uniformed guard who had to be close to seventy climbed off his chair behind the reception desk and hobbled toward her on arthritic limbs. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Umm, yeah, hi. I was hoping I could find the sheriff’s office in here somewhere?”

“Yes, ma’am. Second door down that hall.” The septuagenarian security guard raised his chicken-wing arm and pointed to her left.

“Thank you.” A glimmer of hope flickered in her brain, feeble but evident nonetheless, and she turned to walk in that direction.

“You can leave that bag here, if you like,” he called after her.

“Not on your life,” she muttered so he couldn’t hear. Aloud, she said, “Thanks, but I need to keep it with me.” All she had left in the world was in this case, and she wouldn’t let it out of her sight for a second. Besides, the weight would no doubt separate the old geezer’s shoulder from its socket.

She expected an argument, but the guard shrugged and toddled back to the scarred wooden reception desk against the back wall. “Suit yerself.”

Bo bit back a laugh. At home, she wouldn’t be allowed past the door with a case like hers. Clearly, Dorothy was not in a metropolis anymore.

She headed down the hall and found the second door with “Sheriff” in bold black lettering and a gold star etched into the glass. Outside, she hesitated. Should she knock? Back in New York, she’d just walk into a police station. At least, she figured she could. She never had reason to walk into a police station.

No, they’d come to her.

Shoving that memory into the back of her brain with a growl, she pushed open the door with more force than necessary and tumbled into the room on the other side. Two men seated inside veered to stare at her sudden intrusion, slack-jawed. The one behind the desk got to his feet as she straightened and smoothed her hair with feigned cool aplomb.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

She took a minute to catch her breath before replying, “Umm…hi there. I’m in a bit of a jam and I’m hoping you can help me.”

LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE is available on Kindle in the Amazon Worlds. Buy your copy here!

]]>https://ginaardito.com/one-sleep-til-lightning/feed/0Two More Days til Lightninghttps://ginaardito.com/two-days-til-lightning/
https://ginaardito.com/two-days-til-lightning/#respondThu, 08 Feb 2018 13:33:14 +0000https://ginaardito.com/?p=1595 With two days left, I thought I’d share a deleted scene for your reading pleasure. This scene was supposed to take place when Drew convinced Bo to come to his house for dinner – again. Drew intends to grill steaks, but Bo has other ideas… “I’m not about to risk anything going wrong this […]

]]> With two days left, I thought I’d share a deleted scene for your reading pleasure. This scene was supposed to take place when Drew convinced Bo to come to his house for dinner – again. Drew intends to grill steaks, but Bo has other ideas…

“I’m not about to risk anything going wrong this time.”

Maybe not, but she definitely planned to entice him for the next hour or two. After inching the t-shirt up to her ribs, she tied the ends in a knot, which she tucked into her cleavage, revealing lots of clean, bare skin to his eyes. “You sure about that?”

“Porterhouse,” he emphasized. “If you can’t behave until the steaks are done, I will banish you to the patio outside.”

“Fine.” She tore lettuce leaves off the head of romaine and dropped them in a colander, doing her best to maintain the boundary he set. Through her lashes, she caught him staring at her several times. When she did, she’d slow down the leaf-tearing, making each motion slow and deliberate. The fourth time she caught him, she licked her lips, her pink tongue teasing the flesh from one corner to the other.

“So, umm…” he said in a low tone, his gaze now laser-focused on applying fresh cracked black pepper to the steaks, “are you…” He cleared his throat. “Are you wearing my underwear right now?”

She snorted in her attempt to hold back a satisfied smile. “No.”

“Oh.”

He sounded so disappointed she knew she had to cheer him up. “I’m not wearing any.”

The wooden peppermill in his hand clattered to the floor and rolled toward her feet. “Damn.” The word came out a harsh whisper, as if it were the last utterance of a dying man.

Her laughter nearly exploded then and there, but she bent at the waist, giving him a fabulous view of her cleavage, while she picked up the peppermill. “Here you go.” She placed it in his hand, allowing her fingers to glide over his palm as she did so.

His eyes widened, and his Adam’s apple dropped when he swallowed. “Thanks.”

“Oh, you’re very welcome,” she crooned and returned her attention to her salad ingredients. Upping the ante, she swung her hips to the beat of the music while working. Done with the lettuce, she picked up one of the cucumbers, found a peeler on the island, and shimmied her way to the sink. She turned on the water and skimmed off the cuke’s rind. Who said it was hard to be seductive while peeling a phallic-shaped vegetable? She varied her strokes from long and slow to faster around the tip, all the while allowing the discards to drop into the drain equipped with a garbage disposal.

He might have made a strangled noise; she couldn’t be sure. But she definitely sensed him slip behind her seconds before his hands landed on her hips and his lips found their way to her neck.

Her breath left her lungs in one quick sigh of delight. Somehow, she managed to turn off the water before he spun her around to trail kisses from the hollow of her throat to the hollow of her breasts. His hands, hot and searching, slid up her waist until his fingers found their way underneath the knotted t-shirt. She gripped him by the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him closer, and arched her back—a subtle hint she ached for his touch everywhere. He complied with her unspoken request, his hand sliding up past the knot of the t-shirt, molding the flesh to his palm. A throaty purr rumbled from her mouth. Just for now, she told herself. To quench this need he’d ignited in her. If she slept with him once, whatever draw he had on her would evaporate and she could go on with her plans, focused and recharged. Just this one time…

“What about the porterhouse?” she eked out, not giving one good god damn about steak right now.

“Dinner’s going to be late,” he told her and yanked the t-shirt off over her head.

“I can wait,” she replied as her hand traveled to the button of his fly.

]]>https://ginaardito.com/three-days/feed/0Four Days ’til Lightninghttps://ginaardito.com/four-days-til-lightning/
https://ginaardito.com/four-days-til-lightning/#respondTue, 06 Feb 2018 12:53:43 +0000https://ginaardito.com/?p=1584Today, I want you all to meet Mitch Underhill, Bo’s right hand man at the brewery. As Bo often says about him, Mitch might not be the brightest bulb on the strip when it comes to common sense, but in the brewery business, he is pure, unadulterated genius. Let’s not sell him short. Mitch is so […]

]]>Today, I want you all to meet Mitch Underhill, Bo’s right hand man at the brewery.

As Bo often says about him, Mitch might not be the brightest bulb on the strip when it comes to common sense, but in the brewery business, he is pure, unadulterated genius. Let’s not sell him short. Mitch is so much more. He’s her strongest supporter, her best friend, the man who always has her back.

When she pushed open the door, bright sunlight from the unadorned windows nearly blinded her. Dropping her case in the corner, she raised a hand to shield her eyes.

“I like it,” she replied. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ll definitely put up window coverings of some kind, but I like the light, airy feeling of all this open space.”

She crossed the foyer with its chipped marble tiles sporting black pits against the smooth sheets of white and gray, past the curving staircase and missing rungs in the bannister that resembled a toddler’s smile, to the living room. Her couch looked ridiculous as the only object to fill up the excessive space.

She sighed. “I guess I’m going to have to actually buy furniture, huh?”

“And pictures or hangings of some kind,” Mitch replied, gesturing to the empty sugar white walls.

“I don’t know.” She frowned, dollar signs zipping in her brain—too fast to catch. “My coffers are pretty bare right now.” A sudden chill settled in her bones, and she hugged herself.

“You’re shivering,” he pointed out. “You scared or something?”

She stared out the window at the bleak lawn. “No.” She wasn’t scared; she was downright terrified.

A block of emotions clogged her throat, making any kind of speech impossible. Without a word, she walked away and climbed the stairs to the second floor. The master bedroom was easy to find, since it was the only room with an open door. She stepped inside and sat on the edge of her bare mattress. Like the couch in the living room, it was the only object up here. She’d downsized, of course, from the king adjustable twelve-inch-thick foam mattress she’d had in New York to a queen-sized, three-inch-thick foam-topped coil version on a metal non-rolling frame. Gone were the vintage linen head- and footboards with the ornate, hand-painted lattice and carved rosettes, along with their matching night tables, bureaus, and lamps.

The memory woke up inside, a sitcom rerun playing in her head, and she gave herself over to the laughter.

“Bo?” Mitch leaned in the doorway, wary, keeping his feet firmly in the hall, no doubt in case he had to flee if she lunged for him. “You okay?”

“I slashed our bed,” she said through her chortles. “The night they arrested Rob, I grabbed a big knife from the butcher block in our kitchen and ripped the shit outta the mattress.” She flopped backward, arms flung out wide, and stared at the ceiling. “God, it felt good!” She sat up again as the memories grew somber. “I had to sell everything to pay the bills, to pay back all he’d stolen—except that mattress. Every stick of furniture, every piece of china went. I should have sold the mattress too, but no one would buy it in that condition. Damn shortsighted of me, it turned out. I could’ve used the few hundred dollars it would’ve brought me. When the dust finally settled, I was still in the hole about ten thousand bucks.”

“Stop reliving it,” he told her. “Rob was the criminal, not you.”

“Maybe. But I sure paid for it. If Dad hadn’t loaned me the seed money for Empire…” Shame burned her cheeks, and she let the thought trail off. At thirty-five years old, she shouldn’t still need her father to bail her out.

He sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Rob fooled all of us, not just you. He sure did live up to his name, though, didn’t he? Rob.” He snorted.

On a sigh, she shook her head, a slow side-to-side motion. “Nice try, but it’s going to take more than bad puns to fix my life.”

“You’re right. It’s going to take time. And hard work. And friends. Luckily, you’ve got all three.” As if emphasizing his statement, he pulled her closer into his side hug.

]]>https://ginaardito.com/four-days-til-lightning/feed/0Five Days ’til Lightning Strikeshttps://ginaardito.com/five-days-til-lightning-strikes/
https://ginaardito.com/five-days-til-lightning-strikes/#respondMon, 05 Feb 2018 13:25:04 +0000https://ginaardito.com/?p=1579We’ve hit the five day mark and today, I’d like to introduce you to Bo’s brother, Quinn Sheehan. Like all the Sheehan men, Quinn loves the ladies – but only for a short time before he’s on to the next. Drama, emotions, and talk of happily ever after confuses a man who spends his days […]

]]>We’ve hit the five day mark and today, I’d like to introduce you to Bo’s brother, Quinn Sheehan. Like all the Sheehan men, Quinn loves the ladies – but only for a short time before he’s on to the next. Drama, emotions, and talk of happily ever after confuses a man who spends his days reading the Wall Street Journal and crunching numbers for a billion-dollar company. The one woman he does care about is his baby sister.

On Tuesday, Bo grabbed her toolbox and Quinn’s keys to head to the Sugar Shack. “I should be back in about an hour. Two, tops.”

“When are you going to get your own wheels?” he demanded from his chair at her kitchen table, his daily issue of The Wall Street Journal spread out on the oaken surface like a table runner.

“When are you leaving?” she countered. As if he didn’t trust her on her own, her brother had made himself at home both on her couch and in her brewery. Having him constantly underfoot was seriously messing with her head.

He looked up from his newspaper to glare at her. “Seriously, Bo, you can’t keep depending on other people to get you around. This isn’t Manhattan with mass transit on every corner. You need your own reliable method of transportation.”

“I’m working on it.”

He harrumphed and flipped to the next page with a series of crinkles. “Not hard enough.”

“Look who’s talking. I don’t see you packing up your bags to go home. Seriously, when are you leaving?”

“Soon as I can find a decent place to stay.”

Hope flared, and spurts of joy burst inside her. Oh, happy day. He’d be out of her home—out of her hair—soon. “I thought you loved your place in Greenwich.”

“I do. I’m looking for a house here in Silverton.”

Joy flipped to dread, and she dropped the keys on the tile floor with a clatter. “Here? You’re buying a house here?”

He didn’t even look up from the paper. “Maybe. Unless I can find a decent place to rent.”

“That’s not up to you. Only Dad can tell me when I can leave.” He folded his paper and clasped his hands atop the stack of stock futures and business news. “I’ll make a deal with you. Show me you’re okay on your own, I can report that back to him, and be out of here that much sooner. But if you give me a bunch of reasons to stay, you’ll never get rid of me.”

She sighed her exasperation. “Come on, Quinn. You don’t have to stay here for a year. I’m fine. I’ve got Ian and Connie looking out for me, Mitch looking out for me, even Drew is looking out for me. I don’t need you, too.”

“Okay, prove it. What’s the deal on a car for you?”

Yeah, well, umm… To buy time, she bent to pick up the dropped keys. “As soon as I scrape up enough money for a set of decent wheels, I’ll get something.”

“Not a good answer. How much are we talking about?”

“None of your business.”

He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “Bo…”

“Don’t ‘Bo’ me like I’m a disobedient toddler. I didn’t lose my money due to some bad investments or because I blew it on shoes and pretty dresses. Yes, I’m stretched a bit tight financially at the moment, but I’ll survive. I’m cutting back until the brewery starts showing a profit and I’ve finished paying Dad back what he invested in me.”

“That’s going to be years. Are you really thinking you can get away without a car for that long?”

She gripped the keys in her hand tight enough for the metal to cut into her palm. “I told you. I’ll buy something as soon as I scrape up the money.”

“Fine. Tell me how much you need, and I’ll give you the money.”

She sighed. He meant well. They all did. None of them understood her need to do this on her own. “I’m not going to take money from you or Mal or Patrick or Seamus. I’m a grown woman. I can handle doing without for a while until I can afford what I need. You all have to stop treating me like the naïve victim who can’t survive without a bunch of big, strong, smart men around me. I’m a capable, adult woman. I won’t die if I miss a meal and I don’t need a babysitter reporting back to Daddy every time I falter. I’m perfectly capable of picking myself up when I stumble. I think I’ve proved that by now.” He started to say something, and she held up a hand. “I’m willing to put up with you a little while longer to assuage Dad’s fears, but a year is out of the question. So if you’re going to be here more than a few weeks, you better find a new hobby besides me. I’m nobody’s charity project.”

Before he could continue the argument, she strode out the door and into the car.

]]>https://ginaardito.com/five-days-til-lightning-strikes/feed/0Six Days ’til Lightninghttps://ginaardito.com/six-days-til-lightning/
https://ginaardito.com/six-days-til-lightning/#respondSun, 04 Feb 2018 12:54:24 +0000https://ginaardito.com/?p=1575I’m continuing the introductions to my characters in my newest release for Kindle Worlds, LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE. Today, I’d like you to meet one of Palo Duro Canyon’s best attorneys, Drew Garwood. Drew has enough to deal with, thanks to his local law practice and his older brother’s get-rich-quick schemes. With his ex-wife living […]

]]>I’m continuing the introductions to my characters in my newest release for Kindle Worlds, LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE. Today, I’d like you to meet one of Palo Duro Canyon’s best attorneys, Drew Garwood.

Drew has enough to deal with, thanks to his local law practice and his older brother’s get-rich-quick schemes. With his ex-wife living thousands of miles away in Chicago after their amicable divorce, love is the last thing on his mind – until Bo McKenzie stumbles into the sheriff’s office one hot afternoon:

Well, well, well. What have we here? The foul mood he’d suffered through since Cooper’s phone call telling him they needed to talk about Wade’s latest antics lightened considerably.

He got to his feet, ready to introduce himself to this golden goddess, but the sheriff beat him to the introductions. “Ma’am. I’m Sheriff Cooper Wilson. How can we be of service to you?”

“You’re the sheriff?” She scanned his wardrobe with a dubious eye. Drew understood why. Cooper wore a blue flannel shirt and old blue jeans instead of his uniform.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m off-duty at the moment, but I assure you, I am the sheriff. What can I do for you?”

“My idi—my assistant left our car running when he came to meet me at the bus station, and now, it’s gone.”

“He left the keys in it?” Drew asked, incredulous.

He bit back a smile when the woman’s vivid eyes went wide for a fraction of a second, then flattened again. An expert on body language, he understood what she didn’t say. Her need to defend her idiot assistant warred with her whole-hearted agreement that her assistant was, indeed, an idiot.

“Car thefts don’t happen often here in the canyon,” Cooper remarked in an apologetic tone.

True, Drew thought to himself, but most residents weren’t foolish enough to leave their keys in the ignition, either.

“Probably the Patterson kids playing a prank,” the sheriff added. “Have a seat, and we’ll get this straightened out quick.”

Drew headed toward the door, wondering if he should hang around, or if Cooper would toss him out, when her voice stopped him in his tracks.

“No, wait. What I mean is, I’ll let my associate handle the details about the car. I have a more urgent matter I need help with.”

“Okay, Miss…? Mrs…?”

“Beau,” she replied, shifting the bag in her hand.

“Mrs. Beau,” Cooper said.

Her glare cut through anything else he planned to say. “Beau. Just Beau. Not Miss, or Mrs., or Ms., or anything else. Just plain Beau.”

Drew bit back a grin. She sounded adamant, but the truth was there was nothing plain about her. She was fire and spice and iron, without a hint of vulnerability. No matter what her lips said about needing the sheriff’s help, her posture said she kowtowed to no one.

Cooper must have sensed the same vibe from her, because he held up his hands, nice and easy. “Okay, Beau. What is it we can do for you?”

Her stormy expression cleared, and she raked a hand through the glorious mane of spun silver that cascaded to the middle of her back. Drew’s fingers itched to do the same, and he bet it would feel like silk.

“God, you probably think I’m nuts,” she murmured.

“Now, no one said that, Miss—Beau. We just want to help.” Cooper talked to her as if she had an incendiary device in her big, black case.

Wait. Did she? He hadn’t thought of that.

She sighed. “Look, Sheriff, I don’t have rabies, I didn’t just escape from the insane asylum, and I’m not on drugs, I swear. I’m overheated, desperate, and late for a meeting. My associate, Mitch Underhill, is probably in the hallway by now. He’s either headed here, or the unemployment office. Anything else is unacceptable, and he knows it.”

Understanding dawned for Drew, and he relaxed. “Oh. You work for Mitch?”

“No, Mitch works for me.” A smirk sharpened her overly generous, kissable mouth. Lord, he should’ve worn a parachute today. He was falling fast. “Maybe I should try introducing myself again. I’m Bo McKenzie, the owner of Empire Brewery.”

Whoa. Drew did a double-take when he recognized the name. Not Beau. Bo. “You’re Bo McKenzie?” At her nod, he let out a low whistle. “Beg pardon, miss, but we were expecting a man.”

“So were my dad and four brothers. Guess you’re all doomed to disappointment.”

]]>https://ginaardito.com/six-days-til-lightning/feed/0Seven Days ’til Lightninghttps://ginaardito.com/seven-days-til-lightning/
https://ginaardito.com/seven-days-til-lightning/#respondSat, 03 Feb 2018 13:18:38 +0000https://ginaardito.com/?p=1568With seven days to go until the release of LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE, I’d like to introduce you to the characters. Today, meet Bo McKenzie. Don’t let the smile fool you. She’s survived a humiliating divorce that went wildly public in New York, thanks to her ex’s salacious crimes. She might be broke, emotionally battered, […]

]]>With seven days to go until the release of LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE, I’d like to introduce you to the characters. Today, meet Bo McKenzie.

Don’t let the smile fool you. She’s survived a humiliating divorce that went wildly public in New York, thanks to her ex’s salacious crimes. She might be broke, emotionally battered, and still a bit fragile, but she’s not about to give up on her dream. So, with some financial help from her successful and powerful father, she’s about to launch Empire Brewery, a craft brewery specializing in ales and lagers. Dad’s help has come, however, with a few caveats, chief among them that if she didn’t plan to stay in New York, her only other option is to build her empire in the Palo Duro Canyon where family friends can keep an eye on her. Want to get to know her? Here’s a scene where the town’s attorney gets a peek at her more playful (and competitive!) side:

“What’s going on back there?”

Mitch grinned. “Bo. One of the guys has a hoverboard, and she’s messing around on it right now.”

Drew snorted. “You’re kidding.”

“Come on. Let’s get you situated up in her office. You’ll be able to watch her from there.”

They crept upstairs, and Drew paused only long enough to drop the bag of food on the desk before striding to the window to view the brewery floor below. A crowd of men lined up near the walls of pallets, and in the middle of the aisle they created, Bo waved her arms frantically as she struggled to stay upright on the narrow board with the illuminated wheels and herky-jerky motion. While they all watched, the contraption spun in a circle, and she windmilled her arms to counter the rotation.

The board moved forward. She wobbled, flailed, and for a split-second, looked like she’d pull out of the downward spiral. Gravity worked against her. To the shouts of, “Whoa! Whoa!” from the onlookers, she stumbled off the hoverboard, and onto her knees on the cement floor. A dozen men winced in empathy, including Drew and Mitch, who both sucked in a sharp breath.

At that point, Drew expected she’d return the board to its rightful owner and admit defeat. Good thing he didn’t bet on it. She regained her feet and brushed off her jeans. With a wave of her hand, she signaled her eagerness to jump on the board again. The men on the brewery floor cheered. Drew’s heart plummeted to his stomach when she climbed on top of the contraption for another round.

“How long have they been doing this?” he asked Mitch.

“About a half-hour or so. Bo’s trying to beat the current record.”

“Which is…?”

“Twelve minutes.”

“How close has she come?”

“About ninety seconds.”

“Within ninety seconds?”

Mitch shook his head. “Nope. Ninety seconds total.”

He chuckled. “So I wouldn’t be interrupting anything crucial if I went down there and invited her to come up here to eat?”

A smirk twisted Mitch’s lips. “You’d probably be saving her life. Bo’s not one to give up easy. She won’t quit until she breaks the record or a bone. She’s got a real competitive streak.”

“Is she always this reckless?”

“Well, I don’t know if she’s reckless. She’s got a lot to prove.”

“To whom?”

“Herself, mostly. But her family, too. Her dad’s pretty well known in…his business, and so are her brothers, so she feels like she needs to make a name for herself in her chosen profession. They’re a competitive bunch. The fact she’s the only female in her family and grew up in a household of men means she always works ten times as hard, and she usually winds up twenty times more successful because she doesn’t give up.”

Outside, on the brewery floor, Bo fell off the hoverboard again.

Drew sighed. “I better go get her before she hurts herself.” He strode to the desk and pulled out a round, aluminum foil dish with a clear plastic cover. “I bet I can lure her upstairs faster with this.”

“Is that a deluxe burger from that diner over in Claude?”

“Yup.”

“That’ll work.”

They left the office and headed downstairs to join the chaos on the brewery floor. Once again, Bo balanced precariously on the hoverboard in the center of the room while a young man, barely out of his teens, stared at his watch to time her progress.

“One minute, fifteen seconds,” the young man shouted.

Everyone cheered, except Bo, who ordered above the din, “Don’t keep calling out the time, Ryan! It distracts me.” The aroma of the burger must have reached her nostrils because she turned in his direction and smiled. Leaping off the precarious contraption with more grace than she displayed while riding it, she announced, “Time out. My dinner’s here. To be continued tomorrow.” She followed the scent straight to him. “Please tell me that’s meat, I smell.”

“And hello to you, too,” he replied.

“Sorry. Hi, Drew. Thanks for coming back. How was your day? Is that meat I smell?” She spoke the words as if reciting a list, and he grinned.

“My smart phone shows more emotion than that.”

“What can I say? It’s been a long day. I need recharging.” She looked at the dish he held and gave a fist pump. “It is meat! Oh, thank God. It occurred to me after you were gone you might think I was one of those scrawny, salad-munching women.”

]]>https://ginaardito.com/seven-days-til-lightning/feed/0Counting Down to Lightninghttps://ginaardito.com/counting-down-to-lightning/
https://ginaardito.com/counting-down-to-lightning/#respondFri, 02 Feb 2018 18:43:34 +0000https://ginaardito.com/?p=1559It’s coming next week! My new release for Kindle Worlds, LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE, is set in Carolyn Brown’s Blame it on Texas world. What does a New York brewmaster know about opening a craft brewery in the Palo Duro Canyon? Depends upon the brewmaster, I suppose. Bo McKenzie isn’t an ordinary brewmaster; she’s got […]

It’s coming next week! My new release for Kindle Worlds, LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE, is set in Carolyn Brown’s Blame it on Texas world. What does a New York brewmaster know about opening a craft brewery in the Palo Duro Canyon? Depends upon the brewmaster, I suppose.

Bo McKenzie isn’t an ordinary brewmaster; she’s got a degree from a great brew school in Germany and a book full of recipes. She’s tough and knowledgeable and…scared to death. This is her last shot to get her life right. Fleeing a failed marriage and lots of bad publicity, she’s spent her last borrowed dollar to create her Empire – Empire Brewery. While she’s planned every flavor, every detail of the building, every step of the grand opening, she didn’t count on the legendary charm of the men in this region – chief among them her brewery’s legal representative.

Attorney Drew Garwood has enough trouble juggling his caseload and his brother’s antics without adding romance to the mix. He knows his way around legal briefs, but Bo’s penchant for wearing his boxer briefs jump starts his heart like a poke with a live cattle prod. Loving a woman who can’t trust isn’t easy, but he’s in this for the long haul – until someone deliberately sabotages the brewery and suspicion falls in his direction.

Now, Drew will not only have to find a way to convince Bo to stay in the canyon, he’ll have to find a way to protect her from the danger lurking around them both.

LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE will be available from Kindle Worlds on February 10!

]]>https://ginaardito.com/counting-down-to-lightning/feed/0When the House Seems Big Againhttps://ginaardito.com/house-seems-big/
https://ginaardito.com/house-seems-big/#respondSun, 14 Jan 2018 23:45:58 +0000https://ginaardito.com/?p=1538After a long holiday break, my son left this afternoon to return to college. My daughter is currently with her boyfriend’s family in Manhattan. The Hubster and I are alone in our home for the first time in about six weeks. The Christmas decorations are all stowed away, the leaves have been removed from our […]

After a long holiday break, my son left this afternoon to return to college. My daughter is currently with her boyfriend’s family in Manhattan. The Hubster and I are alone in our home for the first time in about six weeks. The Christmas decorations are all stowed away, the leaves have been removed from our dining room table, and all the furniture is back in its usual place. As we looked around our living room, he said to me, “You know, as much as I love having them here, the house seems so much bigger when they’re gone again.”

It’s true. My house is not large to begin with. It’s a three-bedroom, one-and-a-half bath, L-shaped ranch. There is no upstairs and no basement. I don’t have a separate office (my desk is in the corner of my living room) or a sunroom or screened-in patio leading into my backyard. My husband does not have a mancave. When the kids were small, it was the perfect size for our family. Nowadays, though, toss in significant others, significant others’ family members, extended family, and an enormous tree decorated with fragile ornaments, and soon, our “perfect size” is way too small. Dare I say, almost dangerous in its clutter level? If we wait a month, the crowd disappears, and poof! It’s me and him, puttering around all these rooms and realizing how big this house is for just two of us.

I suppose it’s all about perspective. Or, maybe, it’s confirmation of the old adage: It’s not the size that counts, it’s how you use it.